


memento mori

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Other, POV Second Person, References to Suicide, chara being their idea of romantic, discussions of mortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara, Asriel, and a conversation neither one of them particularly wants to have.</p><p>An AU where Chara and Asriel's initial plan failed and they both survived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	memento mori

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine this taking place when they're in their mid-to-late twenties. asgore and toriel are still alive, but they've stepped down as rulers because I want asriel to be a king and I'd be sad if they were dead
> 
> try not to think too hard about the timeline here ok don't worry about it shhh

You find him in Asgore's garden, watering the flowers. You suppose it's Asriel's garden now, but the part of you that never really grew up still has trouble thinking of anything in the Underground as Asriel's. In your mind, he's still just a kid, the way _you're_ just a kid, despite the lankiness you've developed over the years that tells you otherwise.

His back is a wall, broad and intimidating, covered by the velvet-coloured cape that he now wears almost daily. It both suits him and doesn't. It suits the person he's become, but not the person you still think of him as - the child who once had to stand on his tiptoes to kiss you on the cheek, who once thought that tricking you into smiling was the cleverest prank he could pull. The crybaby. But now he's nearly twice your size, able to lift you nearly as easily as that watering can if he so chose.

Anyone else might have _been_ intimidated, but not you.

He's crouching, humming softly to himself. It's a tune you don't recognize. He doesn't seem to have heard the crunch of your footsteps yet, and with a grin, you bound forward, keeping them as light as possible. 

You throw your arms around him and he yelps, dropping the can. It lands on the ground with a _thunk_ and water scatters everywhere. 

"Guess _who,_ " you trill. 

"I guess Chara. It's never anybody else," Asriel says, and he rises. You slide off his back, landing with your feet planted firmly on the grass behind him, and he glances back at you, smiling, before asking, "Did you come to help me?"

"Nah. Some other time, maybe," you reply, shoving your hands in your pockets. You watch as he bends over to pick up the watering can. The thing is dwarfed by his enormous paws, looking almost like a miniature teapot. 

He lumbers over to the tap in the corner of the room to refill it, and while you wait, you seize the opportunity to climb atop the throne, hooking your legs over the arms and letting them dangle.

A second throne sits in the back of the room, covered by a white tarp. That's the one you're _meant_ to be sitting on, you think, but you don't think about that anymore. 

"What brings you here?" Asriel asks when he returns, but you suspect that he already knows. Maybe that's why he won't look at you. 

"I wanted to ask you something before I chickened out," you say, thumping your heels against the side of the throne. The movement sends a shock of dull pain through your legs, but the rhythm keeps you grounded, and so you keep doing it. "Are you ready?" 

"I...guess so?" he replies. His voice is something low and rumbling now, but the way it pitches up, betraying his uncertainty, is instantly familiar. It's something he's been doing since the two of you were children and it makes you feel even more nostalgic than you already are. 

You don't answer right away, instead waiting for him to finish watering.

You're careful to keep your expression neutral as you watch him work. 

His profile is a strong one now, having lost the baby-soft roundness that it had held back when you'd first met him. His horns, too, have grown in magnificently, enough so that you're almost envious despite, y'know, not being a monster. You wonder if you yourself have become at all impressive over the years or if you're just a longer, more exhausted version of the you you've always been. You doubt that Asriel would answer honestly if you asked him. _Of course you have,_ he'd say, or _you've always been impressive._ Both lies.Kind ones, but still.

Asriel sets down his watering can and finally turns to face you. "You're in my chair," he says accusingly when he sees how you've draped yourself over it. "Now where am I supposed to sit?" 

You pat your lap. He chuckles, but doesn't take you up on your offer, instead moving behind the throne. He leans against the back on folded arms, staring down at you. You reach up, tugging affectionately at the golden curls of his beard. He winces. 

"Look at you with your hairy chin. All grown up," you say.

"I've been like this for a while," he points out, looking amused. "Haven't you noticed?" 

"You're _old."_

"I'm just as old as you."

"For now, yeah."

He doesn't answer.

You stare at him, and he gazes back with soft eyes. His eyes have always been soft, you think, despite the harsh redness of them. They remind you of Toriel's fire; warm, but never burning. Safe. If you could, you would take the feeling of his eyes on you and bottle it up somewhere to keep and to hold and to press against your cheek whenever you wished.

You're thinking something strange again, you realize, but Asriel doesn't even try to interrupt your train of thought. He lets you stare at him, leaving your thoughts free to wander, until finally you say, "Someday you'll be even older."

"You will be, too," he says. He lets one of his arms drop and his hand falls onto your hair. His touch is gentle, as though a part of him is afraid that you may break and yet he still can't bear to resist. He makes you feel precious, and that, too, is a feeling you wish you could somehow isolate and preserve forever. 

"Not always," you say, rubbing your head against his hand so that he's forced to pet you. "Someday you'll be old and I'll be dead."

"Don't say that."

"I _have_ to say it. It's true. You're going to get so, so old, but you'll always be like this. And someday I'll get old, too, but it'll be a grey and wrinkly kind of old and then I'll die. You won't."

"You won't die," he says, and it's a lie. An obvious one, but you decide to let him have it, saying nothing. 

You pull his hand down from your hair. It's enormous. He could easily crush you with it, and so you bring it to your mouth and kiss every finger. You remember how fascinated the two of you used to be with each other's hands, back when you were still new to the Underground; him because of your fingers, long and thin and with broad, flat nails, and you because of his paw pads.

When you glance back up at him, he's blushing. You're the only one who can make the king blush like this, you think with a thrill of pride.

"I want to ask you a favour," you say.

His eyes silently beg you not to, and, well, fair enough. You have a pretty bad track record with favours prefaced by talk of your own mortality. Still, it's something you'll need to talk about eventually, and it might as well be now, when you're alone together and you're feeling ready.

You press one final kiss to his knuckles. You could do this forever, you think, if only to see how bashful he gets, but you need your mouth to speak. 

"You'll be the one to take my soul when I die, right?" you ask, 

" _Chara,_ " he pleads.

"I don't want anyone else to do it," you continue. "If a part of me is going to live forever, I want it to be inside of you." 

Asriel closes his eyes. "I don't want to talk about this," he says at last, and you know that he's picturing you as a child again, lying on your bed with a ravaged, bloodstained mouth and distant eyes.  _I don't like this plan anymore._

"This is different," you say.

You swing your legs over the arms of the throne, sliding off the seat and stepping back out into the garden. You're are surrounded by golden flowers here; faint imitations of the ones from your village. The royal scientist had engineered them as a gift for you on the anniversary of your arrival one year. They're close to the flowers you remember, but not quite the same. Then again, maybe it's your memory that's flawed. Maybe these, with their fat yellow petals and honey-sweet smell, are closer to the real thing than your memories could ever hope to be. 

When you turn back, you see Asriel watching you from beside the throne. Artificial golden light floods the room, making his hair glow like a halo. Too fucking perfect, honestly.

"This is different," you repeat. "This isn't about me killing myself. This is about when I _die._ And it's going to happen someday no matter what. You can't stop that." 

"I don't want to go through that again," he says, face crumpling in misery. 

You have to laugh at that. "As if we have a choice, Ree." 

He approaches you with slumping shoulders, a giant trying to make himself small. You think of how like his father he is. Soft and sentimental and horribly reluctant to do what's necessary. Good thing he has you. 

You meet him in the middle, walking towards him as he creeps towards you, before straining upwards and taking his face between your hands.

"I want you to promise it'll be you," you say. "I'm going to die before you no matter what, and if anyone else does it I'll hate you forever." 

"Chara," he says, sounding helpless. He lifts his hands to yours, and you can't help but think how ridiculous it is that _you're_ the one comforting _him_ here. Then again, he always has been a crybaby. 

"You're the king," you say as firmly as you can. "And I'm your chance to break the barrier. If you don't use me, you'll forever be the king who let the monsters rot in the Underground. That, or you'll have to use another human someday, and I don't want that. I'm the jealous type, you know." _Don't make them wait, Asriel,_ you think. 

He offers you a watery smile. "Maybe we'll find another way to break the barrier someday," he says weakly, but you know better, even if he doesn't. 

"It's not that a big deal," you insist, gently squishing his face between your hands. "I'm just asking you to be the one who does what's going to have to happen someday anyway." 

Asriel sighs, then hunches over in defeat, resting his forehead against yours.

"I know," he admits. "I just...really  _hate_ thinking about you dying." 

"I know," you say, because you do. "I know. But you owe it to them. So do you promise that you won't let this chance pass you by? And that _you'll_ be the one to do it?" 

He's quiet at first, but then, in a very low voice, he says, "I promise." 

You nod. "Good." 

You slip your arms around his waist. He's so wide now that you can barely encircle it, but then he wraps his own arms around you, and for a while, at least, the two of you are one. He holds you like he never wants to let go, and if you cling to him just a little too tightly, then, well, he doesn't seem to mind. 

"I thought if we just never talked about it, it'd be like it would never happen," he whispers. "I feel like I'm the one who's killing you by acknowledging it."

"Don't be stupid," you say, and you cling to him even tighter. He laughs weakly into your shoulder. 

It hurts to think you'll have this taken away from you someday. The part of you who  _does_ feel like something of an adult these days can't quite believe that there was ever a point in your life where you would've willingly left it behind. 

You still feel as fractured as you did when you were small, sometimes. Always, always, there's a voice in the back of your head saying  _you are not enough_  and  _you will never be enough._  But something about Asriel completes you, as much as he is able, and when you're with him, you almost feel like a human being. You have changed over the years, but this, at least, has stayed constant, and you hope it always will. 

Finally you pull away.

"Better shape up, king," you say, swatting him on the shoulder. "Don't want anybody else to see you crying. What'll they think of you then?" 

"I'm not _crying,_ " Asriel protests, wiping at his eyes, and you smirk. 

Once again, you shove your hands into your pockets, rocking slightly on your heels. You feel a little better, now, thinking of Future You and of the soul that will live inside of Asriel. That soul is going to do something good someday; something useful. It's a thought that feels almost...hopeful. You'd thought something very much like it once before, but back then it had been more desperate. The idea carries a different weight, now, promising eternity instead of escape. 

"I'll let you go now, king," you say. "I know you've got some official business to attend to soon." You give him a meaningful look, and Asriel makes a face, one that says _ugh I hate meetings why did you have to remind me._

He follows you out of the throne room. "You should come with me," he says. 

"No thanks," you reply as breezily as you can. "It's not like I've got any business there."

Asriel snorts. "You've got just as much business as I do."

"I don't think many monsters would be particularly happy to know their monarch was collaborating with a human." 

"Oh, come on, everybody loves you."

This time, it's your turn to snort. "Not enough to want me as their ruler."

"You don't know that," Asriel mildly replies. 

You pretend you don't know what he's suggesting, the way you've pretended many times before. For once he doesn't push it any further, and so you reward him with an affectionate tweak of his ear. 

"Are you ever going to stop doing that?" he asks, brushing your hand away, but then he takes it in his own and laces his fingers with yours. "I'm the king now. I could have you exiled."

"But you won't," you answer.

"But I won't," he agrees. 

The two of you stand across from each other in the hall outside the throne room, him in his crown and cloak, you in your weathered jacket and old boots. 

He clears his throat, more than a little awkwardly. 

"If you ever change your mind, there's...another throne," he says. "There always will be. Okay?"

You smile, squeezing his hand.

"Thanks, Ree," you say. 

You turn, and, hand-in-hand, you and Asriel both walk down the corridor. 


End file.
